


Inspire

by varooooom



Series: Random Word Prompts [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varooooom/pseuds/varooooom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes we forget that they were friends before they were siblings, and they loved before they lost. Late night wonders and promises for a tomorrow that will never come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inspire

**Author's Note:**

> This spawned from a meme that was one random word for one random piece of headcanon. The word for this one was "shooting star." There'll be more to come eventually, and they're all super fluffy drabbles purely made for the sake of baaaaws.
> 
> There is some Arthur/Morgana if you squint, but it's mostly meant platonically.
> 
> To my Adi. ♥
> 
>  **Edit** : edited the ending after posting this because Adi is awful and wants me to write horrible things. This went from really cute to really awful really fast. Please forgive me. orz

It's just One of Those Nights, Arthur thinks, so he slips his guards and pads over to Morgana's room, not bothering to explain himself to her guards (he's the Prince, are they really going to try and stop him?) before barging right in. He's in a thin white tunic, his bedpants, and his boots aren't even laced, but it's likely the tired rings under his eyes that will give away his intentions. One of Those Nights, like when they were younger, so he nods his head purposefully towards the door in a silent invitation (demand, really, Arthur can't he arsed to _ask_ ), and Morgana turns to him with a soft smile, quiet and understanding in the way nothing ever is within the castle, because this Isn't. She's already dressed down in her nightgown and a thin shawl, but their night isn't over yet, and she follows him out of the room towards the stairs leading to the highest battlements.

She's always been frightened of heights, ever since they were far younger and far crueler, so when he feels her hand slip into his, his fingers curl around her hand instinctively, protectively, as they always have, until they reach the top and step out into the chill of the dead hour. Arthur exhales, maybe a shiver at the cold or a sigh of relief, as though the fresh air is a welcome replacement for the smothering air of the castle. He releases her hand and walks over to his favourite crenel, leaning on the smooth stone and peering out into the blanket of stars above them. He feels boyish again, bathing in moonlight and hiding away with the King's ward, and a small smile forms without his realising it. He watches from the corner of his eyes as she approaches a separate crenel to lean over cautiously, daring herself to peer down in an unspoken challenge she's written herself since childhood, one that only lasts but a moment before fright takes over and she rushes to his side, leaning against him in a comfortable and familiar manner.

He actively fights the urge to laugh at her fear of being above the ground. Arthur adores it; he can see the lower city in its entirety, the vast stretch of the kingdom beyond their walls, and the blanket of darkness that envelops them all and ties them together. If Arthur would be glad of one magic ability, it would be to fly amongst the clouds so that he might be a part of that wondrous sky that touches all his people with the same light. There's a comfort up here, a hidden glow, private, just for the two of them, and they stay like that for a moment, basking in it, before she breaks the silence.

"Reckon one of them will fall tonight?"

A contemplative hum, "I couldn't say. They're a bit beyond our borders, we may have to ask nicely." He nudges her playfully with his hip, grinning upwards. Arrogant though he may be, Arthur would never presume to command the stars. The heavens are above them, and not even Uther can grasp them. Perhaps that is why he finds such comfort up here.

But Morgana has no such reservations about her pride, and she gives a slightly put-upon huff. "Well, come down. I want the right to make a wish." There's something dangerous in her tone, commanding and haughty, as though she deserves nothing less. Some days, Arthur thinks she might make a fine Queen. And then there are the days she looks up at him, grinning as she is now, with daring and a tease that perhaps might make her a horror of a Queen after all (not that he's put much thought to it at all ever not even once). "Think up one, perhaps they'll listen to me."

"What would _I_ have to wish for?" he asks with a furrow of his brow, leering down at her, "Perhaps that Cook might make sausages for breakfast tomorrow?"

"You could wish that Uther will allow us a trip to the seaside. Where I grew up I could always see it and I do miss it. You could wish that we'll go this summer. That is what I'd wish for," she declares with a decisive nod. He hums in consideration of her wish. It has been a very long time since he last laid eyes upon the sea, and he was but a boy then. His father would likely not stand for it now; a wish is all that it would be. The hum says as much, the silence following resounding with a chill, and Morgana knows it as well as he, so she turns to an old game instead. "I wager I can find the most brilliant star before you can count to twenty."

He turns to her then, the corner of his lip quirked in amusement. "And what then, my lady? Would you will it to fall?"

"Yes - and hang it on a necklace and it'll be so bright that no other lady could match it." There's that superior air again, for only just a moment, but then she shakes her head, putting the joke aside. "Or it can stay up there and we can search for it every year. Some things never change."

At that, he finally does laugh, lightly and unabashed as he looks back up at the stars. "We will declare it our own then, and should it ever deign to fall, I will ride out and fetch it for you, as it would be rightfully ours. " He glances at her from the corner of his eyes, just to catch the light flush that creeps across her cheeks. A victory, that, and he turns back to the stars once more. "Until the count of twenty, starting now. _One, two, three_ ..."

Surprised from her sudden reverie, Morgana starts looking around for the star they've found a hundred times over, but always in a different part of the sky. "Where is it? Don't count so fast!"

He grins as he counts aloud, ' _four, five, six,_ ' with absolutely no signs of slowing. His face stays directed to the sky, but Arthur is rather more content to watch her frantic searching from his peripheral. " _Eight, nine, ten_ \- you're going to have to do better than that, Morgana - _eleven, twelve_ ..."

"I will spot it yet, you're counting too fast -" she laughs, craning her neck around and forgetting her fear of heights for all that her head is in the clouds. He places one hand on the stonework to keep her from falling from the crenel in her enthusiasm.

" _Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen_ \- you are running short on time, milady."

"Found it!" she proclaims proudly, "Look, there - see!" but Arthur pointedly looks in a different direction.

"Hmm, no, I don't see it, and I believe I'm on sixteen now. _Seventeen_."

"Arthur! It is right there, you prat," she laughs again, placing her hand on his chin to tip it in the proper direction. He laughs with her and follows her guidance until the star comes into view, bright for all to see but theirs to claim, _their_ light in the distance.

"Ah, yes," he says softly and shifts just a little with the warmth of her hand to look down at her. Their guiding star, and he smiles at the sea of lights reflected in the pools of her eyes. "I think I see it now."

She smiles up at him before rolling them so she can lean entirely over him, head resting on his shoulder. "You've lost, milord, and I am cold," which which has always meant he gets to play her blanket.

"Yes, yes." There's an unspoken _brat_ there, but he wraps his arms around her all the same. She was taller than him the first time they came up here, and Arthur feels all too strongly the differences between now and then. He will be coming of age soon, coronated as Crown Prince, and he will not have time for things like this. The will never go to the beach and wrestle in the sand, swim in the sea. He will be buried in duties and responsibilities while she is groomed to be an ideal bride, a woman to be fought for, and they will grow old before their star should ever deign to fall.

He holds her a bit tighter, and decidedly stays silent as he continues to watch the stars. Perhaps this will be ending soon, but for now, the stars are above them and the night is silent. Some things will never change.

* * *

Years down the line, when time has twisted and warped and broken so many things, turned a kingdom against itself and wrapped it around to invite others into the warm blanket of protection and love, the King of Camelot gets tired. He tires of battles and bloodshed, of war rooms and Council meetings. He tires of long days and longer nights that stretch on into oblivion and keep him from Guinevere's side, from Merlin's company, from the Knight's late night gatherings to drink away the terrors that keep men from sleep. Arthur tires of it all and finds no solace save for but one place, one forbidden place he's told himself not to go for sake of his sanity.

But the battlements are as close as he can get to that blanket of the sky, the rolling warmth he know exists if only he could reach up to touch it. His favourite crenel has been destroyed and rebuilt countless times and no longer bears the marks of his adolescence but still holds the memories. Hushed voices and cold fingertips, unabashed laughter and companionable silence. They're all laid to rest here, years gone and dead and cold in the stonework.

Arthur looks up to the sky and finds a familiar star, shining bright and bold as they both once did. The Lady Morgana allied the Druids against him just last week. He lost just over a hundred men, and she looked upon him as a stranger before disappearing into the unrelenting furls of her magic.

He looks to the star, _their_ star, still standing high in the sky after all this time. She looked upon him as a stranger but in his eyes, she would find only love. Some things do not change, and Arthur does not find sleep that night.

* * *

Years later still, Arthur finds himself under the night sky once again, but it is not atop his castle at the highest point to the stars. This time, he is lain on his back, the Pendragon cape a blanket beneath him, red with pride and red with blood and fading away into nothingness.

The battle didn't stop when night fell. Too caught up in melee, too close to victory for either side, neither willing to yield. They might've won if only - but Athur cannot think on that now, not after seeing Mordred turn his hand against him, after feeling the blade pierce his flesh and drain him of his life's blood. He will not think of what if's now when there is nothing left to hold on to. The earth is crumbling beneath him, the sky blinking away above him, but still he can see their star shining brightly, eternally, and he focuses on that, on its light that once defined home.

The star falls. Straight down from the sky onto his cheek, a teardrop glowing in the moonlight, and Arthur reaches a shaky hand up to place it on Morgana's cheek.

"My Lady," he says quietly, dazed and confused but smiling warmly. She laughs, the same laugh he remembers from their childhood, from years before in a time he cannot reach, but he can reach her, can brush the tears from beneath her tired eyes. 

"My Champion," Morgana breathes, something pained in her voice and Arthur doesn't like the sound of it. It makes no sense on the face of the woman that betrayed him, plotted against him and brought about his downfall. It isn't her - but it's _her_. Of the past, of a distant memory, a dream he can't remember. It's Morgana, and why she should sound so miserable, he doesn't know. Arthur frowns.

"I lost your star."

She laughs again, brighter this time, and presses a kiss to his forehead. She feels cold, or maybe everything feels cold, and he doesn't know when his hand fell away from her but she's tucking it into her own. "No, dear brother. You've brought it back to me." There's light in her eyes, golden and bright and he thinks _yes, there it is, you've found it_ and the pain leaves him all at once. He exhales softly. "It's time to return now. We should go to the beach, to the sea as I always wished, and we will count one by one until every star should fall from the sky."

"Avalon," he whispers, the word spilling from him without prompt, as though dictated by Another and scripted to this moment, here, and now. Arthur squeezes her hand with what little strength remains. "Do not fear of heights, Morgana."

"No, Arthur," she smiles warmly, coldly, darkness, fading fast until all he knows is the sound of her voice and the warmth of her hand and the light in the sky. "I will have you. We will fear of nothing. Now count to twenty."

Arthur never makes it to one, but Morgana finds their star all the same, and its warmth devours him until there is nothing left. And nothing, not a single thing, changes.


End file.
